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“And I’m not a rock star,” Gabriel scoffed.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said in the most loving way.

Gabriel had been nominated for numerous Grammy awards, two of which he’d won. He’d released over a dozen albums that had all gone multi-platinum, and headlined more tours than I could count. And if that wasn’t enough evidence to support my argument, he was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame two years ago.

And yet he vehemently denied that he was a rock star.

“I’m just a guy who can sing and write half-decent songs.”

I gave him the side-eye. “You’re still sticking to that story, huh?”

“Yup.” He leaned back in his seat and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to his side. “I’m sure your son would agree,” he muttered.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. When that failed, I coughed into my fist to cover it up and patted his arm.

“Lucky for you, I loved you before you became a rock star and I still love you even now that you’ve denounced the title.”

“I feel like the luckiest man in the world,” he said, cracking a small smile.

This was our little game. I snuggled up next to him. “You still make me laugh.”

“You still drive me wild.”

“I’m still your biggest fan. Selling out Madison Square Garden.Imagine.”

“I’m still yours. Exhibiting your work at the Guggenheim. What a fucking dream come true.”

My wildest dreams imagined. What a beautiful life we’d created. Look how far we’d flown.

And yet, we were still very muchus.

I glanced at him. “You still have all your hair.”

“You still hog all the covers.”

We laughed.

I kissed his jaw. “I adore you.”

“Good. Because you’re stuck with me forever.”

“What a hardship,” I teased.

I would always choose him. Again. And again. And again.

In this life and the next.

My twin flame.